


the plan

by novoaa1



Series: the learning curve [3]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Again, Bottom Natasha Romanov, F/F, POV Carol Danvers, They bang, Top Carol Danvers, carol danvers being a lowkey disaster, its a whole thing, so thats nice - Freeform, they're basically dating but they haven't said so, they're domestic as fuCK though, uhhhhh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-07 04:16:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20303317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novoaa1/pseuds/novoaa1
Summary: Carol comes up with a plan.Well, not exactly—more like,partof a plan.Less than 50%, for sure. Maybe like... 12%.Yeah, that sounds right. 12%. She has12%of a plan.(Predictably, it doesn't go at all how it should.)





	the plan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [the_glare_you_see](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_glare_you_see/gifts).

> did i proofread this? i mean... sort of? well not ex
> 
> i mean i didn't ok i just didn't
> 
> so sorry for any mistakes
> 
> sldfkjsdf idk i need jesus

It’s been a couple months, and Carol’s pretty sure that she and Natasha are dating… but, like, with a significant emphasis on the words ‘pretty sure,’ because Christ, but Natasha can be impossible to read sometimes. 

And, honestly, Carol knows that that’s not Natasha’s fault. 

She doesn’t quite know the details, but she knows Natasha’s life hasn’t been easy… and even that is putting it rather mildly, as far as she’s concerned. 

She knows she could find out if she wanted to, knows that there still exists a million files on the Internet (an enigmatic contraption she still hasn’t quite figured out how to use) that detail every bloody piece of Natasha’s sordid past since Natasha herself had facilitated a massive info-dump of S.H.I.E.L.D. files in a daring bid to stop HYDRA from coming back. _Again_. 

(Carol doesn’t know much about these ‘HYDRA’ goons, except that they really, truly, never seem to quit. And, not in the good way, because Peter Parker has since informed her that that particular phrase is used as a compliment amongst modern-day teens.

Except, when she sat down for a low-key Netflix binge-watch with Natasha later that night and confidently told her that she had an “ass that don’t quit, babe,” well….

She had to sleep on the couch for a whole _week_. 

Her back _still_ hurts because of it.)

But, Carol doesn’t think she’s in any way entitled to that information just ‘cause Natasha’s a freaking _superhero_ (though Natasha always rolls her eyes and shoves her playfully whenever Carol tries to call her that) with a heart of gold (she doesn’t bother trying to tell Natasha that part, ‘cause she knows exactly what kind of noncommittal response she’ll get) who’s never valued herself anywhere near as highly as she should. (Again, another thing Carol doesn’t dare telling her—but still, she tries. She tries with every kiss, every lovingly-formed bruise on Natasha’s gorgeous alabaster skin, every moment Carol spends wringing each and every ounce of pleasure she can manage from her delectable body until she’s utterly spent.)

Still, she doesn’t like not knowing; she doesn’t like being ‘in between.’

She’s always been all-in or nothing. She doesn’t do _‘in between.’_

Maria always said it made her reckless, and, you know, maybe there’s some truth to that. 

But, at the same time, she’s not sure who she’d be without it… truthfully, she’s not sure she wants to know who she’d be without it, either. 

She’s bold, and brash, and she’s sure it’d have killed her a really long freaking time ago if it weren’t for the whole ‘probable immortality’ and ‘glowing hands’ and ‘Kree blood’ thing she’s got going on.

But, as it is, she’s alive, still, even in spite of all her ‘painfully imbecilic shenanigans,’ as Natasha is so fond of calling them. 

It hasn’t killed her yet, and she figures there’s no need to tweak a (mostly) working system. 

‘Cause, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it, right?

(It’s important to note that the last time she attempted to employ such thinking when explaining the latest of her ‘painfully imbecilic shenanigans’ to a decidedly unamused Natasha… well, she’s not sure if it was the fact that she was covered head-to-toe in chunky translucent amber-colored alien goop, or the green-blueish blood that kept gushing from her healing yet still quite broken nose, or maybe it was just that she’d caught Natasha on a particularly off day or something, because the redheaded ex-assassin tore into her like nobody’s business for so many things that Carol can’t for the life of her remember, even now. 

It was kind of hot, actually, watching Natasha go on that long-winded rant about just how “stupid” Carol was being, and how she “couldn’t believe the _nerve_” of her, or something along those lines, because she had that fiery look in evergreen eyes that Carol adored and she was barefoot while Carol remained in her combat boots so Carol had to look a little further down than usual, and plus, she was wearing that one sinful crimson-red tank top that accentuated every single curve and made her pale ample breasts look even more mouth-watering than usual and God, but Carol couldn’t focus for the life of her on whatever it was that Natasha was so upset about.

But anyways.)

So, she doesn’t quite come up with a plan—more like a _part_ of a plan. 

25%? No, that’s far too generous. 

15%? Also no. 

12? 12. Yes. She has _12%_ of a plan. 

Admittedly, that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence… but, really, when has that ever stopped her before?

(The answer to that is a definitive no, in case you were wondering.)

— — 

Things start out fairly maudlin—Carol gets back to Natasha’s apartment before Natasha does, and sets about tidying up the place (something she never does, but, no time like the present, right?) before rifling through her cupboards and eventually settling on the one (1) solitary thing she’s actually confident she can make without burning the entire place down. 

(And, really, if Carol _does_ end up burning the whole building down, not only is she _so_ not getting laid tonight, but she can probably kiss the spot she’s reserved for herself in Natasha’s bed goodbye, because she’ll be sleeping on the couch all next week for _sure_.) 

And, you know, maybe that ‘thing' is a dusty old box of Annie’s White Cheddar Macaroni & Cheese that looks like it’s well past its prime—and, after reluctantly checking the expiration date (early February) and knowing damn well that they're well into July by now, she grabs a pot and subsequently sets a couple cups of water to boil regardless because, it could be worse, right? 

According to Clint, grocery stores were famously stingy with expiration dates—depending on the product, you could still (probably) consume whatever it was you were trying to eat for at least a year after it quote-unquote “expired.”

(Was Clint the best source to cite for this particular quandary? 

Well… Whatever, okay; she’s got bigger fish to fry here, alright?)

While the water’s warming on the stove, she jogs down the hall and into the bedroom, shedding her field suit as expeditiously as she can (which is pretty damn quick, considering she spent years serving in the U.S. Air Force where literally _everything_ was a chance to prove herself—even getting changed more quickly than most, if not _all_ her male counterparts). Next, she slips out of her star-spangled panties (whatever, okay? She thought they were cute) and the restricting black sports bra around her upper half, both sliding easily off her sweat-slick body. 

(Now, getting a sports bra on _after_ a shower? That’s a separate matter entirely. 

She may have super strength, but jeez if that doesn’t make a freaking difference.

It’s like Thor’s hammer, she thinks—or, maybe not, because even Natasha wriggles around on her bedroom floor like a galaxy worm on bath salts trying to get those things on at times, and Carol thinks that Natasha might just be the best goddamned person she’s ever known… or ever will know, for that matter.

So, not like Thor’s hammer, then—rather, just another ridiculously inconvenient perk of being born with a uterus.)

She flings them (along with her soot-blackened combat suit) absentmindedly over her shoulder in the vague direction of the plastic hamper sitting in the corner of the rather minimalist bedroom (Natasha had been very displeased with Carol’s rather glib habit of throwing her dirty clothes every which way as soon as she got back to the apartment—funnily enough, that’s what many of their early fights had been about, and also coincidentally where Carol had first seen firsthand just how _hot_ Natasha was when she got angry). 

Then, she’s hopping into the shower, entirely unflinching under the freezing-cold spray that hits her (straight in the _boob_, no less)—she’s quick and militarily efficient as always, getting in and out in less than five minutes, brushing out her damp hair as more of a second thought than anything else, then snatching a comfy outfit from her drawer (the one Natasha cleared out for her in her beloved white-painted dresser… seriously, Carol thinks, how are they _not_ dating?): her favorite pair of red-and-blue plaid boxers, and a fitted black T-shirt with Natasha’s symbol (a blood-red hourglass) emblazoned proudly on its front. 

She’s got the shirt on, and is hopping around on one foot down the hallway on her way to the kitchen, ‘cause somehow getting on her boxers is proving to be a uniquely challenging feat this evening—but, she yanks up her boxers and makes it to the kitchen with seconds to spare, because the water has gone well past boiling and is threatening to bubble over the sides altogether until she’s cranking the dial back down to “LO,” letting out a relieved sigh as the bubbles promptly begin to recede. 

She’s just grabbed the purple box and is in the process of lifting it up to squint intently at the step-by-step instructions typed neatly upon its back in a flowing white font, when _click!_ goes the lock—_Natasha’s home_.

She groans, pinching the bridge of her nose as she does—so much for having a romantic candlelit dinner prepared for her sort-of-maybe-almost girlfriend when she got back.

(Okay, fine, so maybe ‘romantic’ might be a tad bit of a stretch, considering the ‘dinner’ in question was instant mac-and-cheese, and maybe the ‘candlelit’ part isn’t super relevant since she doesn’t even know where Natasha keeps those obscenely expensive candles she loves so much… not to mention she’d probably have a fit if Carol used them without asking permission first, but, whatever, alright? 

It’s the effort that counts, or… something.)

“Carol?” she hears Natasha’s melodious voice call along with the quiet sound of the door shutting behind her, and Carol bites her lip, squinting at the still-lightly-boiling water on the stove for a moment or two, not quite sure whether—

“You tried to cook, darling, didn’t you?” Natasha questions as she approaches, the knowing smirk evident in her tone even before Carol whirls around to see it. 

“Well, I wasn’t done yet, Nat,” she quips back with playful respite, more than happy to take in the sight of a fully suited-up Natasha stalking towards her as she does so, her (sort of) girlfriend’s gorgeous red hair flowing in loose waves across her shoulders, the only hint at where she’d been a faint streak of dirt running diagonally across her left cheekbone. “And, I’ll have _you_ know, various people have said that my macaroni and cheese is nothing short of _delicious_.”

“Various people, hm?” Natasha repeats, her voice droll and amused as she comes to stand just centimeters from Carol, their faces a hair’s breadth apart, warm breath ghosting across Carol’s lower lip in the best way. 

“Oh, yeah,” Carol assures her with a smirk, the words coming out slightly muffled as she leans down to press Natasha’s lips firmly against hers in a chaste kiss, her arms snaking around Natasha’s waist to bring her flush against the length of her body. 

Natasha kisses back in earnest, her pliant form practically melting into Carol’s arms, and Carol thinks that she wouldn’t back out now (or ever) for the life of her, not when she has this, here, because she’ll swear up and down to a god she doesn’t quite believe in that she’ll never know a sort of bone-deep peace that's even remotely like unto this. 

(And she’d be right, too.)

Then Natasha’s pulling away and it’s all too soon but Carol lets her (Carol _always_ lets her), content to watch those verdant-green eyes fluttering back open with scarcely-concealed adoration, to simply revel in the downright brilliance of this moment because she knows damn well she’ll never see anything like it again. 

“What?” Natasha asks in that playful, teasing tone of hers, her smirk widening to dimple her cheeks in the most _adorable_ of ways, and God, Carol wants her. 

“What do you mean, ‘what’?”

Natasha rolls her eyes, and Carol sees a flash of white when she bares her teeth in a nearly full-blown grin—not unusual, but rare enough that she’s come to covet the mere sight of it like nothing else, and God help her but she can’t stop the way her arms tighten reflexively around Natasha’s waist in response, trying to sate some wholly inexplicable need to have her closer than ever before even as she feels Natasha’s heartbeat thrumming against her chest and their hips pulled flush against one another’s and she knows that such a thing isn’t humanly possible to begin with. 

“You know exactly what, Ms. Danvers,” Natasha drawls, low and borderline seductive, arching her body even further in Carol’s, full breasts pressed deliciously against Carol’s torso—it’s temptation incarnate; _she’s_ temptation incarnate, and it begets forceful jolts of white-hot arousal to spark deep in Carol’s belly until she’s surprised she isn’t literally glowing at the current moment with the outright momentousness of it all. 

“That’s 'Captain Danvers' to you, actually,” she corrects dryly without missing a beat (though her voice catches on the final syllable, and Natasha’s smirk widens at that, because damn her but she knows exactly what she’s doing to Carol right now). 

Natasha merely hums, leaning in to place the briefest of pecks upon Carol’s lips before she’s slipping out of Carol’s arms with the practiced ease of someone who’s spent their life maneuvering out of tight spots and even tighter ones, leaving an all-encompassing tingling sensation spanning the length of Carol’s body even whilst she watches her (kind of, sort of) girlfriend go with the faintest of smirks. 

“Turn off the stove, Captain,” Natasha throws teasingly over her shoulder, drawing out the ‘Captain’ in that ridiculously flirtatious way of hers, and Carol feels her thighs clench of their own accord, her arousal increasing tenfold. “Order some takeout for us while I wash up?”

Then, she’s disappearing down the hall and (presumably) into <strike>their</strike> her bedroom without a backwards glance, leaving a wide-eyed and uncomfortably turned-on Carol in her wake. 

God, that woman was going to be the death of her. 

— — 

She eventually decides on ordering Chinese from their shared favorite spot just a couple blocks down, but when she looks at the menu online (which, even _that_ part took forever, because the Internet is fucking _scary_) she can’t quite remember if Natasha had said she was utterly repulsed by the Egg Drop Soup or if it was her absolute favorite thing to order, and normally the prospect of getting yelled at yet _again_ by a distinctly fired-up Natasha wasn’t enough to give her pause (… if anything, she’ll admit she even actively sought it out at times). 

But, right now… right now, she has an objective in mind, an objective which would no doubt prove to be rather difficult (or impossible, really) to complete should she find herself sleeping on the couch over the next couple of days.

That in mind, she can’t afford a screw-up. Not when she’s so close; not when _they’re_ so close to being… well, whatever it is Natasha will allow, if this all goes to plan. Whatever Carol can _convince_ her to allow, really. 

So, she’s waiting atop the bed in the dimly lit space (a single lamp atop the nightstand casting an amber, yellowy glow across the room), anxiously tapping her foot, the magnitude of her racing thoughts easily drowning out the muffled sound of Natasha showering in the adjoining bathroom—she’s so disoriented, in fact, that she doesn’t hear the water promptly cut off a couple moments later, or the gentle noise of the doorknob turning, all telltale sounds that Natasha’s finished now, that they’re seconds away from an exchange that terrifies Carol and excites her in equal parts because she knows that this could make or break them and God, but that scares the ever-living shit out of her.

She doesn’t register it, _any_ of it, and that’s more than enough to make the sudden sight of Natasha half-naked clad in only a fluffy white towel feel like goddamned sucker punch to the gut, because, _Holy shit_. 

The sheer expanse of perfect pale skin exposed to Carol’s hungry gaze is more than enough to make her absolutely sure she’s seconds from fainting: Natasha's smooth alabaster is littered with tiny droplets of water that glisten in the low light, and that flimsy towel (which only reaches just above mid-thigh, and even that is being exceedingly liberal) is doing absolutely _nothing_ to hide the generous swell of her breasts beneath the fabric. 

Her tumultuous fiery-red waves are dry (Carol knows Natasha only washes her hair every other day of the week), piled up into a rather haphazard bun atop her head that shouldn’t look as fucking _beautiful_ as it does in that moment... and fuck it all, but she’s looking down at Carol with that criminally attractive smirk, an intelligent twinkle in her impossibly green eyes, and, really, Carol can’t quite remember for the life of her what she was about to say or why in the world it was so goddamned important in the first place. 

“Hey,” Natasha greets lowly, stalking forward with that predatory smirk, until she’s standing just before Carol, Natasha’s damp bare knees brushing delectably against hers, a particular unspoken (yet altogether palpable) electricity set ablaze between the two of them that has Carol aching with the need to touch her, to make Natasha _hers_ in every way she knows how. 

“Hey,” Carol greets back, voice thick with arousal and _want_, and, by the way Natasha’s green-eyed gaze darkens as if on cue in response, she knows the feeling’s mutual. Still, she wants to say _something_, even if she’s not quite sure what it is yet; something to change them, something risky but bloody worth it in every sense, something to make _this_ permanent. “I—"

Then, Natasha promptly drops the towel to let it pool at her feet, every inch of her naked skin on display as she poses demurely for an instantly slack-jawed Carol, and all rational thought (which, admittedly, isn’t ever all that much to begin with) goes out the metaphorical window. 

“I… I—I—" she stammers as Natasha’s smirk widens, fighting to keep her gaze upon the redhead’s face rather than those mouth-watering breasts topped with pert, rosy pink nipples, or the sinfully toned lines of her torso, particularly the ‘V’ of her hips that invites Carol’s eyes to look straight down to the heavenly juncture of her gloriously milky-pale thighs, where glistening pink folds peek chastely from behind her neatly-shaved mound that Carol longs to taste, like, _now_. (Clearly, she’s not doing all that well.) “I-I had a whole speech planned out, I think.”

Natasha huffs out something like a laugh as she lowers herself to straddle Carol’s hips in a swift, practiced movement, Carol’s arms reflexively curling around the damp, bare skin of her waist to keep her firmly in place. 

“A speech, huh?” she questions huskily, arms coming to rest upon either of Carol’s clothed shoulders, lips brushing temptingly against Carol’s. “Sounds intriguing.”

“Not really,” Carol hums back instantly, positively intoxicated by her close proximity and flowery scent (underlaid delicately with fragrant hints of smoke and gunpowder) and just everything _Natasha_ above all else, flooding her awareness and permeating her every sense until it’s all she can do to stop herself from just pouncing on Natasha and fucking her well into oblivion, overwhelming her with rough touches and gentle kisses and austere _pleasure_ so that Carol can have some remote chance of focusing again, God_dammit_, because right now she’s sure she couldn’t have cared less if a Kree warship crashed through the ceiling demanding their surrender and zealously threatening their livelihood with certain death. 

“No?” Natasha questions softly, tone wrought with sensuality and provocation, her lips mere millimeters from Carol’s—God, it’s the most exquisite kind of torture she’s ever known on this planet or any other, feeling Natasha right _there_ and knowing they’re just the slightest trace away from kisses and purposeful touches and skyrocketing _pleasure_. “You sure?”

Carol fights the urge to roll her eyes, allowing her grip to tighten around Natasha’s naked form, delighting in the nearly-inaudible contented sigh she elicits in response. 

“Don’t tease,” she growls in a warning tone, sprawling each hand around the generous swell of Natasha’s ass cheeks and squeezing firmly to punctuate her demand, red-hot heat blazing low in her gut as Natasha lets out an involuntary gasp. 

Natasha crashes forward to engage her lips in a searing kiss (in lieu of a verbal response), and Carol instantly surges up to meet her with a reverberating groan of her own, her grip struggling to bring Natasha impossibly closer; she delights in every keening whine she can elicit, every strangled gasp that tells her she’s doing something right, every open-mouthed hum Natasha releases against Carol’s lips in a reckless bid for more.

They kiss like that for what feels like forever and Carol can’t get enough of it, enough of _her_—it’s like heaven when she gives Natasha’s magnificent ass one final squeeze before her single hand is traveling up to massage the damp skin at Natasha's hipbone, then creeping further down to glide teasingly through soaked folds, ripping the loudest moan yet from a squirming Natasha atop her lap. 

She takes her time with it, trailing a single digit through the most delectable wet heat she’s ever known, heady arousal gathering upon the pads of her fingers, Natasha twitching and gasping so beautifully in her arms even as she tightens her grip around the redhead in a lustful venture to ensure she can’t escape. 

She loves how Natasha’s breath catches when the she allows the tip of a single finger to sink shallowly into her silky depths before quickly retracting it in favor of a delicate trace back up to her hypersensitive clit, circling it gently even as Natasha gasps hotly into her mouth, “Carol.”

“Hm?” she hums back noncommittally, still tracing lazy circles around her slippery clit with a single digit, soft wet sounds entirely audible as Natasha struggles futilely against Carol’s iron grip, trying to grind further down into the contact even whilst Carol keeps her firmly in hand. “Use your words, baby."

Natasha huffs out a frustrated breath at that, warm and hot against Carol’s lips, another keening whimper escaping her when Carol traces applies just a little more pressure (just the way she likes) against her clit. 

“Please,” she mumbles petulantly, hooded eyelids fluttering open to reveal intense green irises, a pronounced pout on full kiss-swollen lips that has Carol on the verge of bending to her will without ceremony, because, _Holy shit_. 

But, still, it’s not good enough, and what’s more, Natasha knows it, too—just like she knows exactly what she’s doing to Carol with every flutter of her long sweeping lashes, every bite to her swollen wine-red lower lip; she knows the effect she’s having, and she’s utilizing that in every way she can to make Carol break, to make her relinquish some modicum of control even if just for the briefest of moments. 

Either way, Carol’s not so easily swayed—she refuses to be, in fact, especially now. Especially tonight. 

“Aw, sweetheart, I _know_ you can do better than that,” she entreats vaingloriously, emphasizing her appeal with another deliberately firm stroke atop Natasha’s overtly sensitive clit that has her letting out the most exquisite high-pitched moan Carol’s ever heard from flushed crimson lips. “You can do better than that, right? You can be good for me, hm?”

“_Please_,” Natasha chokes out in something of a whine, eyelids slammed shut with sheer _pleasure_ as Carol goes back to idly caressing her glistening-wet folds with a single finger. “_Please_, Car, I need—gonna be _so_ good for you, I promise, just _please_—"

She cuts herself off with a keening mewl as Carol sinks two fingers into her velvety depths without a single warning, automatically curling them against that spongey spot inside her that she knows makes Natasha go crazy and bringing her thumb to rub slickly around Natasha’s clit in tight circles, smirking to herself at the way Natasha throws her head back in overwhelming bliss at the action, exposing every tendon of her _perfect_ neck for Carol to latch onto like a woman starved. 

Natasha’s entirely incoherent now, her words unintelligible and slurred (though Carol thinks she detects a word or two of Russian amidst the rapid profusion of gibberish), and Carol knows she’s close, knows it in the rhythmic way Natasha clenches so perfectly around her fingers, the way her pliant form melts even further into Carol with every well-placed bite and nibble, the way her body wracks itself with full-bodied tremors in tandem upon every rough thrust, every conscious swipe against her throbbing clit. 

Carol bites _hard_ into the flushed skin at the nape of Natasha’s neck as she adds another finger and feels Natasha tip almost immediately over the edge in response, her walls clenching so tightly around Carol’s fingers even as she fucks Natasha through it in long, deep strokes, grinding her thumb against Natasha’s clit all the while, delighting in every choked moan and whimper that escapes her whilst she rides out her intense climax on Carol’s fingers. 

“_Fuck_,” Natasha whimpers as she’s coming down, resting her damp forehead against Carol’s, and Carol smiles wickedly to herself, taking this opportunity to fuck her three fingers back into her soaked cunt with a renewed vengeance, grinding her palm against Natasha’s clit on every thrust. “F-_Fuck_,” Natasha whines again, louder this time, her body shifting this way and that in Carol’s unyielding grip as if unsure whether to grind down into the pleasure or shy away, the oversensitivity turning her choked moans into delightful sobs of bliss, every relentless thrust bringing her close and closer to a release Carol knows will threaten to render her unconscious with its magnitude. 

“Gonna cum for me?” Carol rumbles against her lips, loving the way Natasha thrashes and writhes in some inexplicable attempt to both chase after and escape the mind-numbing overload of self-indulgence Carol’s imposing upon her, the way her body shudders violently with every powerful thrust and slight curl of Carol’s fingers against that unobtrusive spot deep inside her—still, she manages something like a shaky nod in response to Carol’s murmured ask, punctuated by a desperate wail that Carol can’t help reveling in even as her fingers work to bring Natasha closer and closer to her release. 

“Cum for me, Tash,” she tells her in the faintest of whispers, curling her soaked fingers and pressing firmly against that ridged patch within her as her palm grinds down _hard_ against Natasha's aching clit—Natasha comes with a scream, warm wet liquid gushing out onto Carol’s palm, dripping down her wrist even while she kisses Natasha’s sweaty face and murmurs gentle praise against her feverish skin, telling her how perfect she is, how good she’s been for Carol, how proud Carol is of her as she rides out her second climax, her lithe body wracking itself with shudders in Carol’s unrelenting grip. 

“Holy _shit_,” Natasha gasps out when she’s more or less recovered, her naked body limp atop Carol’s, high cheekbones flushed with exhilaration. 

Carol smirks, bringing up her fingers, soaked with Natasha’s juices, to her own lips, taking them in her mouth and groaning at the tangy taste of her. “Good?” she asks a second later, fingers still wet with her own saliva, Tasha’s dilated green eyes watching her hungrily all the while. 

“You didn’t order the takeout, did you?”

Carol frowns at that, huffing out a breathless laugh even as Natasha’s gaze narrows intently. “I guess I got distracted,” she murmurs, leaning in for another kiss and humming contentedly when Natasha allows it. 

“Distracted, huh?” Natasha questions with the barest hint of a smirk, cocking a single brow in that way she knows _damn_ well makes Carol go crazy every single time. “How unfortunate.”

“Personally, I blame you.”

“Me?” Natasha blanches with ever-skilled theatricality, fingers beginning to card absentmindedly through Carol’s damp dirty-blonde locks even as her brows shoot towards her hairline. “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

Carol snorts good-naturedly, tightening her arms around Natasha and fixing her with a playful glare. “I’m sure you don’t.”

Natasha hums in response to that, scrunching up her nose and furrowing a brow in mock thought for a second or two—then, she’s visibly brightening with a subtle quirk of her lips, the faux confusion fading rapidly from her stunning features.

“Well, I’m sure we could come up with _some_ way for me to make this right, Captain Danvers,” she urges flirtatiously, drawing out her words and fluttering her lashes at Carol in the most enticing of ways. 

“Is that right?” Carol inquires flatly with a quirk of her brow, though she knows she’s not fooling anyone (least of all Natasha) with her attempt at a somewhat impervious front. “And how do you suggest we do that?”

Then, Natasha’s smirk is widening and she’s leaning further into Carol’s embrace and saying, “Let me show you,” in that silky-smooth voice of hers, and fuck but Carol couldn’t have argued if she tried… and, really, it’s not as if she’d want to, anyhow.

Her plan (whatever it was) can come later, she thinks… right now, she’s got more important things to be focusing on.

— —

**Author's Note:**

> thoughts? comments? concerns?🤔
> 
> also here’s the link to my


End file.
